


More- Peterick

by cherryblossomstump



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Suicide, Trigger Warnings, cliffhanger?, goddamn im depressing, graphic depiction of violence, im done writing angst, im sorry, whoops, working on fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8265205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblossomstump/pseuds/cherryblossomstump
Summary: He felt blank. Almost numb. Like it wasn't really happening, yet it was. Because surely the hurt radiating out from his core wasn't anything that a dream could create. Surely the betrayal blossoming in his mind couldn't be formulated in a dream. This was real. This was happening. Pete had left him.(TRIGGER WARNINGS)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously debated breaking the fourth wall in this to call myself a sadistic bitch but then I decided to just do it here. Enjoy!

**~Patrick, 10:47 pm~**

 

Patrick turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open when he heard the welcoming click. He was excited to be back home, excited to see Pete. The plan for the week had been that since Patrick had to work overtime at the record store across town, he would stay with Joe. Then today a family emergency had popped up, and Joe had left the state to visit his family. He hadn’t had much to say on the topic, mumbling something about his cousin in California. Patrick had refused the keys to the house, saying he preferred to stay with someone (which he did. Joe’s aggressive cat wasn’t much company). He couldn't wait to surprise his boyfriend with an early trip home.

However, he knew something was wrong when the kitchen light was on. Pete was adamant on keeping it off whenever they didn't need it. Something about conserving energy or something, but Patrick secretly suspected he wanted to prove his stealth skills when he snuck in to eat the last of the cake. He checked the clock, confused. It was nearly 11pm, and the living room adjacent to the kitchen was empty. He softly shut the door, just in case Pete was asleep. When he was satisfied with the locked door, he started to move slowly down the hall.

When the two had first moved in together, as best friends, Patrick had slept in a separate room. That room was still littered with his belongings as he quietly rolled the suitcase against the wall. He kept his most important belongings and a change of clothes in Pete's room, which was significantly bigger than Patrick's. He didn't mind though.

Creeping towards the master bedroom, he had that off feeling again. There was something going on. The darkness of the house was doing nothing to ease his mind, with its creaky floorboards and eery silence. When he reached the closed door, he hesitated to open it. It wasn’t that he was scared. He was just apprehensive. Instead, he placed an ear against the crack of the door. It was silent for a heartbeat before a gasp and a whine sent a leaden weight down into Patrick's stomach, and not because of something he ate. If it was anything, it was probably shock. Because it had definitely been a female voice.

Tears pricked at the back of his eyes, threatening to make an appearance. This is what he had been dreading. The day when Pete finally got tired of him. The day when Pete finally realised what an ugly, useless, pathetic loser he was. The day Pete finally stopped loving him. These thoughts tumbled around in Patrick's mind as the noises continued behind the closed door, oblivious to the grief the man in front of the door was feeling.

Stepping away from it, he felt blank. Almost numb. Like it wasn't really happening, yet it was. Because surely the hurt radiating out from his core wasn't anything that a dream could create. Surely the betrayal blossoming in his mind couldn't be formulated in a dream. This was real. This was happening. Pete had left him.

Patrick moved to go to his room like a zombie. There was no more bounce in his step, no more smile on his face, no more light in his eyes. He was truly, utterly broken. The one person he'd believed in had gotten tired of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to shove it down because, he told himself, Pete could make his own decisions. A relationship was for two people, not one.

He didn't know why, but he didn't stop at his bedroom door. He felt a inexplicable tug, so he just kept padding down the hallway. There was no explanation to be found in the existence of Patrick Stump until he was in front if the medicine cabinet. His pills. The anti-depressants. He hadn’t needed them lately. They were one of the only things that could save him, but also break him. Just like Pete had.

His fingers lingered over the prescribed dosage of two pills per day before wrapping around the bottle so hard his knuckles turned white. Then he was back in his room, heading towards the closet and ignoring the indignant clatter of protest from the pills as he dropped them carelessly.

Patrick reached the open doors and stood on his tippy-toes to reach the back of the high shelf where a dusty box sat. He tugged it towards him. Unbeknownst to pretty much everyone, Patrick had kept his razors. He didn't know exactly why, but these little pieces of metal had been there for him when no one else was, and therefore he didn't think he'd have the strength to discard them like they meant nothing. Maybe it wasn't the best decision, seeing his suicidal state right now, but he wasn't about to waste time judging himself.

The seconds stretched into minutes. He had returned to the middle of the floor, just staring at the wall. Nothing particularly interesting, just thinking about his life. Patrick just sat there, fiddling with a blade before thinking about his friends. Some fucked-up version of him decided that they deserved to know what was going to happen.

**[stumped had changed their name to PeteItsOver]**

**PeteItsOver:** hope u had a good time tonite sweetie :) have fun fucking sluts without me!  <3

**[PeteItsOver has changed eteP's name to sltfckr]**

**[PeteItsOver has removed sltfckr from the chat]**

Yeah, maybe it was a tad harsh, but Patrick was lashing out.

**[broseph added sltfckr to the chat]**

**broseph:** pat he cheated on you?

 **PeteItsOver:** ***cheating

 **PeteItsOver:** but ye

 **PeteItsOver:** Id probably be dead without him but whatever

**[breadbin had changed their name to FuckYouPete]**

**PeteItsOver:** well then

**[dunwithyou has changed their name to dunwithpete]**

**dunwithpete:** hey should we come over

 **PeteItsOver:** sure

 **PeteItsOver:** but you won't make it

There was a silence before the chat blew up.

 **broseph:** PATRICK NO DON'T

 **st.gerard:** PAT WE LOVE YOU

 **dunwithpete:** HE'S NOT WORTH IT

Patrick felt nothing as the messages came in, resigning himself to this decision as his friends begged him not to. As a particularly loud moan came from the other room, he drew the blade across his arm, relishing the sting of the cut. Blood beaded up in fat, red drops and he made two more slices, and watching the streams connect as they rolled down his arm and into the cream carpeting.

There was a certain beauty to it, Patrick admitted. The warm droplets welling up, creating rusty tracks down his arm and settling in perfect circles onto the blank canvas of the ground. He closed his eyes and _sliced_ at his arm, not looking at where the blade was resting and chafing, even nicking his fingers as he decided his left arm was beat up enough.

He didn't care.

Pete had been _everything_ to him, and look where it got him. Cutting on the floor of a room across the hall from where his boyfriend was having sex with someone else. He just _wasn't good enough_. Patrick began feeling lightheaded from blood loss as he brought his boot-clad foot down on the top of the pill bottle, the top breaking off. The pills scattered around the floor from the upset, and he curled his lip at them.

He had heard about the procedure of pumping the stomach, and it wasn't pretty. Unless the person he had heard it from was completely wrong, it had something to do with pumping charcoal down your throat and into your stomach, where it absorbed all the chemicals from the pills. Then they made you throw it back up. It balanced out the bacteria in the stomach and stopped the effects of the pills. One of his friends had overdosed and ranted about how it sucked. Plus, there was a chance someone could get here before he died. So, a no on the pills.

 **PeteItsOver:** thnks fr th mmrs

He ignored the pills and reached for the razors again.

 

**~Tyler/Josh, 11:23 pm~**

 

They didn't wait for the lift. Both Tyler and Josh sprinted down the stairwell, shoes clacking against the metal. They ran as fast as they could towards the waiting car, Tyler hopping in shotgun while Josh started the car and gunned it. They were the closest to Patrick's apartment, only about 7 minutes away, but it was too long a drive to slow for pesky speed limits. They sped through the streets, Tyler on cop watch. They couldn't afford to be pulled over.

As Josh drove furiously, Tyler found himself cursing Pete. Patrick was hopelessly in love with him. When the two had first met and Josh wasn't around to hide with, he'd had his ears talked off about how gorgeous and amazing Peter Wentz was. Every day to Patrick was another day to spend with Pete. Patrick was so fucking in love with him, and yet he'd still cheated.

Josh didn't even bother to park correctly as they pulled up to the complex. They were both running up the stairwell, adrenaline keeping them from collapsing. It was a lot of running for about 5 minutes, but their friend could be dead. Then they reached the door to the apartment and all Tyler had to say was "Fuck-" and Josh knew that the spare key was probably on the kitchen table at their apartment. Josh threw himself against the door once, twice, three times. He continued to shove his shoulder into the door until it splintered near the doorknob and they could finally push it open.

Tyler made an immediate beeline toward Patrick's old room, knowing he would be in there. Josh was slower, but still rushed after him as Frank and Gerard, who had just arrived, followed. The trio split, Frank running into Patrick's room with Tyler as Gerard and Josh headed towards the master.

The door wasn't locked. Gee threw it open to see Pete curled up with an unfamiliar woman on the bed. They were both asleep, and Josh took a split second to wonder how they hadn't woken up when he'd broken down the door. He growled at the sight of the pair, and the girl woke up.

Josh was disgusted. This girl looked about sixteen and here she was, fucking a 20-something-year-old man behind his boyfriend's back. She whimpered and shook Pete awake. His eyes widened as he saw a furious Josh with Gerard behind him, meaning Tyler and Frank were here too, and audibly gulped. The silence was shattered when Tyler started screaming. " _SHIT_ , someone call 911 _NOW_ ," and Gee was dialing. Josh made a cutthroat gesture to Pete as they turned and ran out of the room, Josh slamming the door rather hard behind him.

The two were not prepared for what came next as they stopped in the doorway. Frank and Tyler were kneeling next to a crumpled Patrick, his arms completely covered in red. It left a horrid outline of a body on the light carpeting, seeming to mock them. Josh heaved, suddenly glad he hadn't eaten anything since lunch. Gerard watched with dark, panic-stricken eyes as the lady on the other line assured him an ambulance was coming. But for right now, all the boys could do was attempt tourniquets on his arms with some of Patrick's t-shirts from the closet.

To everyone's relief, Pete stayed in his room the entire time. They didn't think they would be able to keep their cool if he didn't. Shortly after, emergency personnel arrived, and the four boys stepped aside to let them wheel a pale Patrick out on a gurney. Josh tossed Tyler and Frank the keys to his car so they could quickly follow. As soon as they were out the door, the police approached.

"Hello, boys," a man with a mustache said. The badge on his uniform proudly displayed that he was the sheriff. "If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Of course not," Gee answered. They were led over to the sofa. Gerard sat down right next to Josh just in case the drummer got angry. The sheriff sat in the armchair with another officer standing behind him, holding an important-looking notepad.

"So, I just want to start with your names."

"Gerard Way and Josh Dun, sir." Gerard was doing the talking for now.

The officer looked down at his notebook before asking, "Could you spell that please?" in a soft voice

"Sure," Gerard agreed, and did so.

"Now, the name of your friend?" the sheriff asked. He seemed to be the one asking the questions, and the man behind him was writing it down.

"Patrick Stump, spelled exactly how it sounds."

"Now, do you believe he tried to kill himself?"

"Yes," Gerard and Josh said in unison. Josh continued, "We have a group chat with our friends, and he told us his boyfriend had cheated on him and that if we were to come we wouldn't 'make it'."

"Boyfriend?" the sheriff's eyebrows raised in question. It wasn't judgemental, just merely curious.

"Pete Wentz, last name spelled W-E-N-T-Z. He left earlier, I think." Gerard was totally believable when he lied.

Josh's face remained neutral, but inside he was screaming at the police officer to go in the bedroom, to find Pete and arrest him, to make him pay for what he did to Patrick.

"He was here?"

"Yeah. I'm assuming that's how Patrick found out. He was supposed to be staying across the city for overtime at the record store, but I guess he came home earlier than expected," Gerard chuckled dryly. It was more sarcastic than anything.

"Does he have a suicidal past?"

The rest of the questions were pretty generic, asking about Patrick's life and his relationship. After what seemed like forever to Josh, the officers were heading toward the door.

"Thank you for your time, boys. It was really helpful to the investigation. We just have to ask you to stay away from the room Patrick was in, because we'll be here tomorrow to take more photos and evaluate the chain of events. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Gerard agreed flatly.

And with another "Thank You," the police were gone. Josh and Gerard only looked at each other before turning to make their way to the bedroom.

 

**~p much neutral, 12:16 am~**

 

"I really fucked up, didn't I?" Pete asked, head in his hands and words slightly muffled.

Josh scoffed. "You think?"

Gee put a warning hand on Josh's shoulder. His anger had reignited as soon as he had entered the room, his muscles tensing up and his fists flexing impatiently. Every word he spoke had a fair amount of venom dripping from it. He needed to calm down.

"Dude, chill," Gerard mumbled in his ear. Josh answered by shrugging the hand off.

"Why? Why did you do it?" Josh asked the boy sitting on the bed.

Pete shook his head. "I- I don't know. It's a lame-ass excuse, but I really don't know. I love 'Trick so, so much. Yeah, I was drunk, but I really thought I'd have enough restraint not to bring anyone home. I don't know what he exactly did, but it was pretty bad, wasn't it?" The anguish and self-loathing in Pete's voice was enough to get Josh to lighten up the smallest bit.

"Yeah, it was awful. I couldn't see the skin on his arms," Josh admitted. Behind him, Gerard made a noise of agreement.

"Shit. _Shit!_ " Pete mumbled, running a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath before continuing to talk. "I never wanted to hurt hi-"

Josh's phone rang.

He yanked it out of his pocket and looked at the caller I.D. Tyler. He quickly put it on speakerphone. "Hey Ty. What's happening?"

Tyler's voice was bright when he replied. "Patrick's doing great. We got there just in time. They stopped the bleeding and pumped his stomach because of the pills they found laying around. He's okay."

Pete collapsed onto the bed with a "Thank God," and Josh and Gee relaxed. "That's awesome, Ty. We can't wait for him to get better!" Gerard called, then grinned.

And about eight hours later, the hospital realised they had fucked up.

 

**~Patrick, 8:32 am~**

 

Patrick felt horrible. And not in the guilty way. He literally felt like somebody had ripped his guts out, played baseball with them, and then put them back in. It hurt to move, and on top of it he had a headache and was pretty drugged up. He didn't feel like he was "on the road to recovery". Yet the doctors didn't do anything.

They told him he would be okay. They refused to tell him how they had treated him, probably afraid it would trigger him. Patrick had wanted to argue, wanted to tell them he didn't really have triggers, but decided to shut his mouth. His arms weren't a big reassurance. So here he sat, wondering how it could literally be a thousand degrees in here and nobody noticed.

"Oh Patrick!" came a singsong voice, and one of the nurses wheeled in a cart. She had a bounce in her step today. "I had good news," she continued conspiratorially as she stopped the cart by the bed.

"The doctor said you should be able to go home soon! Like, not today obviously, but soon. Just make sure to stay away from Pete. What he did was awful."

Patrick wondered (not for the first time) what the odds were that one of the nurses had a niece who was a fan of the music covers he posted to YouTube. Apparently, it didn't matter, because it was 100% true and he had been identified. Now his subscribers knew and were spreading the word.

He also figured that the nurses were the reason Pete wasn't allowed into the room.

"I will," he promised, feeling a little guilty because he knew that it was a very hard promise to keep. It was Pete. He wouldn't be able to escape the apologies.

She seemed satisfied with this, and chatted animatedly as she checked his stats and reflexes. When she finished, she bounced out of the room, leaving silence in her wake. While Patrick might not have minded silence before the incident, now it left him with time to think. He didn't want to think. It also let the pain in his abdomen get worse.

Needless to say, he fell asleep with the help of a shit-ton of morphine.

 

**~Morning, 6:04 am~**

 

Patrick woke to a screaming pain in his stomach. It was so bad he felt tears in his eyes as he clutched at it, groaning. It hurt like a motherfucker. He was sure he opened up some of the healing cuts on his arm when he reached to slap at the panic button, his other hand gripping his abdomen as if that would help.

He was gasping for breath when the doctors rushed in, shouting at one another. He heard the clippings of sentences and pieces together something about an infection in his appendix, and that it was really bad. He almost screamed in pain as they quickly lifted him onto another gurney and rushed him out into the hall.

Patrick wasn't sure when his vision started fading in and out, but he attributed it to the lightheadedness. He caught flashes of two figures that looked a lot like Pete and Josh following as they ran towards the emergency surgery wing. The last thing he saw before he was forced to turn his head was a panicked and heartbroken Pete being restrained by a visually upset Josh.

He didn't know why, but he felt a tug in his heart. Pete had cheated and here he was , making Patrick feel stuff that he hasn't ever felt. It was probably a bit of hatred, longing, guilt and regret thrown into one pot. Then they wheeled him around the corner and he felt himself slipping away.

The ceiling grew smaller and smaller, the noise grew quieter, and Patrick was okay with it. The pain in his stomach was only a distant memory because he felt like he was floating. It was weird but welcome. His previous problems seemed insignificant and petty. This was it. This was what he had wanted. This was death.

A slight smile graced his face as he half-closed his eyes. He was okay with this change in events. He felt himself grab a male nurse's wrist. A worried face appeared above him. It looked like he was asking if something was wrong. He completely closed his eyes as he spoke to the man above him. He didn't think it was in more than a whisper, but that was fine.

"Tell Pete I love him."

And then he willingly fell off the edge of reality into a permanent, dreamless sleep.

 

**~Pete, 6:07 am~**

 

A clamor woke Pete up from a fitful sleep. He hadn't properly rested since a couple nights ago, when Patrick left for the other side of town. The only reason he had gotten drunk was so he could sleep through the night, and look where that got him. He turned his head and spotted a shock of blond hair being rushed on a gurney.

He jumped to his feet. It was Patrick.

The nurses were calling to each other over his prone body, and Pete overheard something about a ruptured appendix. A rush of anger flew threw him. The hospital fucked up big time. He felt a hand fisted in his shirt and whipped around to see Josh sleepily blinking up at him.

"Pete, sit down. Patrick's fin-"

"No, he's right there, being rushed to surgery."

Josh sat bolt upright with a "What?" and they were both sprinting down the hallway after Patrick. He wasn't moving at all as the group rushed down the hallway, other nurses and doctors pressing against the walls to let them through. Pete finally noticed where they were wheeling Patrick. Emergency surgery.

Just as he reached the threshold, he felt strong arms across his torso and he was being yanked back. Josh wouldn't let go of Pete no matter how much he fought.

"Let me go!" Pete jerked his shoulders forward. Patrick was looking right at him.

"You can't go in there," Josh responded, tightening his grip.

"Let go-"

Patrick was gone, wheeled around the corner. Pete sank back into Josh's chest and stumbled. In the distance he could hear voices, calling the procedure until-

It stopped.

The wheels stopped squeaking, the nurses stopped shouting. All Pete could do was listen and hope, hope that Patrick wasn’t dead, that he had just woken up, that he was okay-

“Time of death, 6:10 am, October 11, 2016.”

Pete screamed.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this was bad


End file.
